There was a sudden spurning of the gravel. Poke, lazy as he was, had begun to run. With a shout Bob leaped away after him.
But Ned turned toward the closed cabin door. The wadded-up handkerchief had dropped from the cuff of Dorothy’s coat just as she was being pushed inside. It was off the sidewalk, and Ned’s brain worked quickly.
“Come back here, Bob!” he yelled. “He’s only putting us off the scent. Here she is!”
In a moment Ned burst into the shack. Jane Daggett dodged and ran out. The black-haired virago aimed a blow at Ned’s head with the plank, but missed him by a hair’s breadth.
“Look out! Look out!” cried Dorothy, sinking into a corner, out of the way.
“Oh, I’d give a dollar if you were a man for a minute!” exclaimed Ned, stepping around the woman to dodge her blows, but having to stand her coarse vituperations.
Bob came back with a whoop. The woman dodged out and disappeared up the gully on the trail of Jane Daggett. Dorothy’s hat, coat, watch, purse and ring went with them.
“They’ve robbed and beaten you, Dot,” cried Ned, beside himself with rage. “Oh! if they’d only been men so we could hit ’em.”
“Well, now,” began Bob, when Dorothy panted:
“There’s the boy, Ned. Let’s catch him. Never mind my things. That boy got the letter and he knows about Tom Moran, I am sure.”